


Guilty Until Proven Innocent

by keerawa



Category: due South
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-20
Updated: 2009-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 23:28:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keerawa/pseuds/keerawa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PI Ray Kowalski first meets Benton Fraser when the disgraced Mountie is on trial for murder.  He knows Ben is innocent - but can he prove it in time?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Opening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Private eye Ray Kowalski is attracted to Benton Fraser from the moment he sees him - in the courtroom where Fraser is on trial for murder. Ray's convinced Fraser isn't the killer, but time is running out. Can he prove Fraser's innocence in time,and prove to Fraser that he's in it for more than just the money and the headlines?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Challenge:** Written for the [](http://community.livejournal.com/ds_harlequin/profile)[**ds_harlequin**](http://community.livejournal.com/ds_harlequin/) prompt #17.  
> **Length:** Complete in 3 chapters with 13,200 words  
> **Warnings:** AU, major character death (off-screen), violence, m/m sexuality  
> **My betas:** Apparently it takes a village to beta an AU. Thanks to [](http://raine-wynd.livejournal.com/profile)[**raine_wynd**](http://raine-wynd.livejournal.com/) for having the guts to tell me what was wrong with my first draft, [](http://aukestrel.livejournal.com/profile)[**aukestrel**](http://aukestrel.livejournal.com/) for her able leadership in the on-going comma wars, [](http://slidellra.livejournal.com/profile)[**slidellra**](http://slidellra.livejournal.com/) for talking me through my harlequin-noir crisis, and Steven for a final read-through.  
> Cover created by the fabulous [](http://sandrainthesun.livejournal.com/profile)[**sandrainthesun**](http://sandrainthesun.livejournal.com/).

**Friday**

Ray Kowalski was sweating through his best suit. Not only was the courtroom packed, but the jokers on both sides of him kept sticking their elbows into his space.

Ray didn't much like being in court. As a PI he got called to testify from time to time, but it was never fun. Plenty of judges and cops still remembered him from the bad old days. Putting up with their little digs without jumping Bogart on somebody took everything he had. Plus, every minute he was sitting here was another minute he wasn't getting paid.

Only Stella could have gotten him into court on a day he didn't have to be here. They'd been separated nearly two years now, but she was still his Stella. She wanted him in the audience for her big case, he was there. She'd pulled strings to get him in - he probably could have scalped the ticket if there was one. Courtside seats at a Bulls game were nothing compared to a seat at the trial of the infamous double-murderer and cop-killer, Ben Fraser.

There'd been a media frenzy over the Mountie who'd masterminded a bank heist, then gunned down his own partner when that partner, Detective Ray Vecchio, had figured out what he was up to. Every Tom, Dick and Harry in Chicago wanted to see the bastard face the music. The vic's family was seated right behind the prosecution, with Lieutenant Welsh and half of the 2-7.

Ray had followed the news over the past few months. One cop betraying another ��" that was a story he knew from the inside out. He'd seen Fraser's picture on TV, a stiff, good-looking guy in a red suit being led away in handcuffs. From what Stella'd said, it was a pretty open and shut case. Ray figured he'd show up for the opening day of the trial, throw Stella some moral support, glare at the bad guy, and then get back to work.

Ray felt a stir pass through the crowd as the defendant entered. All he could see at first was a dark-haired figure in a brown suit. One of the Vecchio women stood up and yelled in a tear-choked voice, "Fraser, you son of a bitch, how could you?"

Fraser turned his head abruptly and Ray saw blue eyes bright with pain. Ray felt his heart beat hard behind his ribs - once, twice. Then Fraser's pain was shuttered behind a face of stone.

The TV pictures didn't do him justice. Ben Fraser was the most beautiful man he'd ever seen. But he was beautiful like a statue, stern and distant. Guy looked more like the Archangel Michael come to smite the wicked than a criminal on trial for his life.

Fraser sat directly in front of Ray at the defendant's table. He stood for the judge, then sat down. His lawyer handed him a sketch pad. As Stella began her opening statement, Fraser pulled out a pencil. By "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury" he had Stella's stance down in a few strokes. "Cold-blooded murder of his partner" and Stella's hair spread across the sheet. Fraser started on her outfit as she told the jury about "Half a million dollars, some of which was found in this man's possession." "Betrayal of both public and personal trust" had him sketching her face. By "beyond a reasonable doubt" Stella was glaring, cold and hard, from the page.

Ray could have reached out and touched the bare back of Fraser's neck as he flipped to another page to capture his defense attorney's opening statement. Ray felt a growing certainty in his gut: Ben Fraser was not the bad guy of this story.

He'd gotten these kinds of feelings before, and they were never wrong. He just didn't like where they led him. Following his gut in the Beth Botrelle case got him kicked off the force. Poking his nose in when he got the feeling Stella was a little too understanding about the long nights he'd been pulling on cases got him an eyeful and a marriage on the rocks.

Getting involved here, just 'cause he was getting the crazy idea the cop-killer in Stella's career-making case was innocent, would be stupid. It wasn't his job to figure out if Ben Fraser was really the killer. Not anymore. He worked the cases that paid ��" insurance fraud, bail jumpers, ugly divorce cases. He'd stay out of this mess.

Ray managed to convince himself of that through the prosecution's first witness. Fraser finished a close-up of Inspector Thatcher's face by the time she'd testified about him skipping work the day before the shooting, and the ten grand from the robbery that the Mounties had found in his place up north. The cross-examination focused on Fraser's work record and commendations.

The judge called a recess until Monday morning. Fraser stood and turned. All it took was a second glimpse of that pale face and his quiet "Excuse me," to the deputy who 'accidentally' jostled him while escorting him out of the courtroom. Ray was attracted to the guy, sure, but there was more to it. If Ray's instincts were right, and Fraser was innocent, then some big fucking miscarriage of justice was going on here. And that was none of his business, but …

He had to find out the truth.

The crowd pushed out of the courtroom, talking about the case so far. Stella was clearly kicking ass. Ray gave her a thumbs-up. Some of the detectives from the 2-7 crowded around to congratulate her. But not Welsh. He just stayed sitting on the bench, staring off into space. Ray walked over.

"Hey, Welsh. You look like a man who could use a drink."

Welsh startled and looked up. "Hey, Kowalski. Yeah, that's the best idea I've heard in a while."

Ray suggested a place down near the docks. Not a cop bar. Not a yuppie bar. Just a quiet place he'd found after Stella kicked him out, where they respected a man's occasional need to drink himself into a stupor.

Ray had gone out for drinks with Welsh a few times before over the years. Welsh would usually have a few beers, and then call it a night. Tonight he called for Scotch, neat, soon as his ass hit the stool. As his friend, Ray was worried. But as a PI looking for the real story, it made things easier.

After the fourth shot Welsh started talking.

"Constable Benton Fraser." He pronounced it slow and careful, as if the name was a curse.

"He was one of yours, wasn't he, Welsh?"

Welsh shrugged, wound tight. "Thought he was. Fraser played me like a fiddle."

"He seemed like a good cop?" Ray asked, gesturing for the bartender to keep 'em coming.

"Yeah. But that's not all it was." Welsh straightened up, placing his hands in a wide circle around one of the empty shot glasses on the bar. "He was … wherever Red was standing, that was a place where Truth and Justice could prevail. You know? Gave us hope." Welsh flicked the shot glass off the bar. Ray flinched at the sound of breaking glass. "Fuck," the lieutenant swore under his breath.

Ray slid a fifth shot over to Welsh.

Welsh glared at him. "Fuck you too, Kowalski. You trying to get me drunk?"

Ray didn't bother denying it. "You know that old saying, 'Drunk guys tell the truth?' You seem like you need to be telling some truth to somebody right about now." He polished off a second shot of his own. "Why not me?"

Looking Ray in the eye, Welsh made his decision. He downed the shot and set the glass on the bar like a challenge.

Ray nodded. It was on. "So, what makes you think Fraser did it?"

"Wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't heard him say it with my own ears."

Ray made an encouraging noise.

"We brought him in after the murder. At first he had this crazy story about the Metcalf woman from the original robbery, said she was framing him. Fraser was all hot for us to go after her before she got away. But one of my men was dead, and I was playing hardball. Laid it out for him, frame by frame."

Welsh had started out slow, but now he was building up a good head of steam. "No witness had ever seen her. There wasn't a single print in his apartment, even though he claimed she'd been staying there. Money from the robbery had turned up in his cabin, his neighborhood, and even in his wallet. We'd found the murder weapon at the zoo. I showed it to him, and he actually admitted it was his service revolver. Then I told him Victoria Metcalf had died in a car crash two months ago."

Welsh put both elbows on the bar and put his head in his hands. He muttered, "I laid out photos of Vecchio. Crime scene shots, morgue shots, all over the table. And Fraser looked, Christ, he looked worse than Vecchio did in those pictures. He moved all the photos into a stack and pushed it across the table to me. Then he said, 'You are quite correct, sir. I am the one responsible for Ray Vecchio's death.' He handed me his hat, and asked to see a lawyer. Wouldn't sign a confession, later, but I heard it."

Maybe it was because Ray was an outsider. Maybe it was because he knew Fraser was innocent. But Ray heard something different. "Ah, Lieutenant?" Welsh turned his head slowly and blinked, like he'd forgotten Ray was there. "I hate to break it to you, but that wasn't a confession. That's a cop who made it out alive when his partner didn't."

Welsh sat back on his bar stool so hard he almost fell off. Ray had to steady him with one hand. "Christ." He shook his head from side to side, like he was trying to clear it. "Jesus fucking wept! Yeah, that, that's the Constable Fraser I knew. And … and I threw him to the wolves."

Staggering to his feet, Welsh reached into his coat pocket for his keys. "I've got to, got to call somebody. Tell 'em Fraser didn't do it."

Ray hooked the keys out of Welsh's hand and threw an arm around him, to keep him from falling down. "Slow down there, Lieu. I'll get you home. And I'll call Fraser's lawyer first thing tomorrow, get in to see him. Maybe I can help prove he's innocent."

Welsh peered at Ray, drunk but fierce. "You'd do that?"

Ray nodded.

"You're a good man, Kowalski. You were a good cop, even fresh out of the Academy. They shouldn't have thrown you out. I tried to stand up for you. You know that, right?"

Ray walked him towards the door. "Yeah, I know, Lieu. I know." Welsh had been one of the few willing to take a rookie's word over Sam Franklin's.

Ray drove Welsh and his car home, and then called a cab to get back to the bar. He slid into the driver's seat of his car and turned on the radio, flipping through stations until he found something loud enough to drive to when he was a little tipsy and a lot tired.

Ray sat there with the engine running for a minute. He wasn't sure what he'd gotten himself into, aside from a shitload of non-billable hours. Still, it couldn't hurt to look into Fraser's case; he owed Welsh that much. Ray put the car into gear and headed south across the Loop to his apartment for a few hours of sleep.

* * *

  
**Saturday**

Fraser's lawyer, Jameson, was an eager beaver. Once he got over Ray calling him at home on a Saturday morning, he got right on the job, getting Ray on Fraser's approved visitor list in less than an hour.

That's how Ray ended up standing in a fluorescent-lit hallway at the Cook County Jail, waiting in line to be searched. The place smelled like a weird mix of rotten golabki and bleach. The two pregnant women in front of him were trading baby-care tips and horror stories about a chick who tried to get in to see her boyfriend wearing an underwire bra. The old lady in back of him kept cussing tiredly to herself in Spanish.

He found himself drifting. Imagining stuff. Welsh talked about Fraser like he was some kind of hero. But now Fraser was in trouble, and he was the one needing help. Ray could help. Ray could save him. He imagined Fraser looking up at him, eyes warm, lips curved into a grateful smile. He pictured Fraser licking the tip of his pencil and then looking down at his sketchpad. The Fraser in his head started drawing. Ray recognized the set of his own shoulders on the paper just as the sound of a squalling baby knocked him out of dreamland.

Fuck.

He had a pretty serious woody, and that was just embarrassing. The guy-on-guy stuff wasn't a problem. Ray's porn collection swung both ways, even though he hadn't brought himself to cross that line since he and Stella called it splitsky.

But the hero thing … Stella would laugh her ass off if she knew. He'd been full of that shit as a rookie. Franklin had knocked most of it out of him, getting him kicked off the force for trying to do the right thing. And he'd been burned enough times since then by a pretty face with a sob story. Christ, he should know better by now.

Ray almost turned around and left, but now he was at the front of the line. He handed over his piece, his cigarettes, and a comb they said could be used as a weapon. Maybe if he was a ninja or something. Then he was escorted to the no-contact visitation room.

"Fraser get many visitors?" he asked the bored PO.

"Nah. Just his lawyer. Oh, there was this one guy, tall, in a red uniform. Showed up once, cried a lot, never came back."

A quick background search that morning hadn't turned up any living relatives, and Fraser'd only been in the country about a year. Still, no visitors … that was rough.

Ray settled into a chair in front of the glass barrier, wishing he'd had time for a few more cups of coffee. Finally they led Fraser in. He didn't look anything like Ray's dream. Fraser's orange prison jumpsuit clashed with the institutional green walls. He looked caged. Of course, he was caged, all the guys in here were, but Fraser looked like he felt the bars with every breath.

Fraser sat down opposite Ray and picked up the phone. As their eyes met through the glass, Ray felt a jolt. There was a connection there. Something real. He wondered if Fraser felt it too. Ray put the phone to his ear.

"Mr. Kowalski," Fraser greeted him coolly. "My lawyer tells me that you are a private investigator, and need my assistance on a case?" It was a nice voice, smooth, a little higher than Ray'd expected.

"Yeah, that's right. Your case." Ray heard some of the eagerness he felt slip into his voice.

"Ah." Fraser glanced down, and then back up. "If you don't mind me asking, are you any relation to Assistant State's Attorney Stella Kowalski?"

Ray felt a crazy impulse to deny it. "She's my wife. We're separated." For almost two years now.

Fraser's forehead creased. "Even so, I foresee a certain conflict of interest in helping you."

"Look, Fraser," Ray put his hand out, already hating the glass between them, "I'm not here for Stella. I'm here for Lieutenant Welsh."

His eyes narrowing, Fraser asked, "Why would he ask you to speak to me?"

"Welsh thinks you're innocent, Fraser. He wants me to help you prove it."

Fraser's eyes closed. He took a breath, then let it out slowly. It was like watching ice start to melt. When his eyes opened, they were … alive.

"That's good to hear, Mr. Kowalski."

"Call me Ray."

Fraser stiffened slightly. Ray kicked himself, remembering that was the dead partner's name, too.

"Or just, uh, Kowalski, that's fine too." Ray's brain scampered to change the subject. "Hey, I saw you drawing yesterday in the courtroom. You're pretty good."

"Thank you … Kowalski. It's a talent that has often been useful in pursuit of …" Fraser trailed off. "I suppose, at this point, it's more of a hobby."

Fraser sat back in his seat and assessed Ray for a few seconds. "Why did you take the case, when Lieutenant Welsh asked you to?"

"I owe him one." In a burst of honesty, Ray added, "Besides, I think you're innocent too."

An odd almost-smile played over Fraser's lips. "You were in that courtroom yesterday. You must be aware of how strong the case is. Why would you possibly think that?"

Ray wondered how to explain it to Fraser when he didn't really understand it himself. "I guess … you just don't look like a killer."

Bam! Just like that, all of Fraser's walls were back in place. As he stood up to go, Fraser said into the phone, "In my experience, appearances are a very poor basis for such judgments."

Fraser hung up the phone and walked away.

What the fuck was that about? Ray smacked his hand against the glass, yelled, "Fraser!" And it was impossible, no one could hear anything through that soundproofing, but Fraser looked back. Ray said it fierce, with everything in him. "I _know_ you're innocent." And then Fraser was gone.

* * *

  
**Saturday afternoon**

Ray broke six traffic laws making it to brunch with Stella on time. Saturday brunch was their thing. Just 'cause they were separated and barely talked anymore didn't change that.

The restaurant was a little glitzy for him, kinda low-end for Stel. She was wearing a new suit, brown and velvety. As he went through the motions of loading up his plate and telling her about his week, Ray felt the contrast between the spark he felt with Fraser and the nothing he had here. He and Stella could get out of here, head to her place and fuck. They'd done it before. And he still wouldn't feel half as connected to her as he did to Fraser across a bad phone line and a glass barrier.

They had that spark once. It used to be good, between him and Stella. But it hadn't been that way for a long time. Which, come to think of it, is what she said when she threw him out.

Ray interrupted Stella's story about the latest guy she was seeing. "What do you want from me, Stella?"

She looked up from her food, and Ray saw a glimpse of the Stella from Fraser's picture. "There's only one thing I really want from you, Ray. Sign the damn divorce papers."

Part of him tried to freak out. Sacred vows, 'til death do us part. This was The Stella, who he'd loved since disco was cool, who stuck by him when everything went to hell. The rest of Ray figured it was like a sacrifice move in chess. Lose the queen, get a better position for the knight.

"All right. I'll do it." Stella dropped her fork, like she never expected him to say yes. "But I want something in return. I want to see the Fraser case files."

Stella shook her head. "Why do you want to see those?"

Ray shrugged. "I'm curious." He started to rev up. "Come on, Stel. You know how the game's played here in Chicago. You gotta give a little to get a little." Ray stabbed two fingers at her. "Do you want those papers signed, or not?" He leaned across the table, daring her to take him up on it, not 100% sure that he wanted her to.

Stella was never one to turn down a dare. "Fine." She wiped her hands on her napkin and threw it on the table. "Fine. Let's go to the office right now and do it."

On the way out she left money to pay for the meal, like always.

For the first time, Ray actually let her.

At the office, she pulled the divorce papers out of a desk drawer, and he signed them. Then she dragged six filing boxes out of the closet and pointed to a chair. Ray sat down.

"These are the rules. These files do not leave my office. You do not photocopy them. You do not write on them. You want to take notes, here's a notebook." She threw a blue spiral-bound at Ray. He snagged it out of the air. "You put everything back exactly the way it is now. Don't even think about smoking in my office. I'm locking the door. Once you walk out, you're done." We're done, Ray heard.

"Stella," he said, as she headed for the door, "you gonna change your name?"

She spun to look at him. "No, I think the damage has already been done, Ray. I have positive name recognition now as Stella Kowalski. You want to change yours, go right ahead." And then she walked out the door.

Ray walked over to her desk and picked up the phone to call Welsh. "Hello? Kowalski here. … Yeah? Maybe a Bloody Mary would help? … Geez, sorry I said anything! … Look, remember how we talked about Fraser last night? I went to see him this morning. … Okay, but he seemed kind of suspicious. Maybe you could give him a call, let him know I'm working for you? … No, I'm not trying to hit you up for money, Welsh, I got it covered. … See you around."

Ray hung up the phone, shaking his head fondly. "Cheap bastard," he commented, reminding himself to finish off that last missing persons case he had on the books. That'd be enough to pay the bills for this month.

He sat down at the table and opened the first file box.

Fourteen hours later, Ray figured he knew almost as much about the case as Stella did. He had a notebook full of names, dates, contact info, and funny little diagrams. He also had a headache the size of Lake Michigan and a serious craving for a smoke. Victoria Metcalf definitely killed Ray Vecchio and her partner, Jolly. She'd also shot Fraser's pet wolf and gotten away with half a million dollars.

But proving it was gonna be a bitch.


	2. Middlegame

**Monday morning**

Monday morning Ray was back in court, wearing his second-best suit. It felt like when he used to wait for Stella outside her dance lessons: excited, out of place, not too sure of his welcome. Was Fraser still pissed off at him for whatever he said wrong on Saturday?

Stella flat ignored him when she walked in. But she'd been doing that in court for years now. Fraser entered the courtroom. He walked down the aisle, not looking left or right, cool as a cucumber in a snowdrift. As Fraser pulled out his chair, he looked Ray right in the eye, gave a tiny nod.

That was a good sign. Definitely.

Stella started off by calling Detective Abercrombie, from Alaska. While he testified about the original robbery, Ray glanced at Fraser's sketchpad. The detective was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Fraser was drawing a woman's face. A gorgeous woman with long curly hair. Abercrombie mentioned the name "Victoria Metcalf", and Fraser tapped his pencil hard against the paper.

He was telling Ray that this was the woman he'd arrested years back, the woman who showed up in town to frame him and kill his partner. Suddenly Fraser's head jerked to the left, like someone was standing next to him. He stared at nothing, shook his head no, and muttered something under his breath. After that he grabbed a sharpener from his lawyer's briefcase and focused on getting a perfect tip on his pencil.

The rest of the day was forensics testimony, confirming that the money recovered from Fraser's place was from the Alaskan robbery and that his service revolver had been used to kill both Jolly and Vecchio. They even recreated the scene.

But the real drama was on that sketchpad. Over five hours Fraser drew four incredibly detailed pictures of Victoria Metcalf.

**_Victoria curled up in the snow, desperate._** That would be from the time Fraser arrested her, up in Canada. The files had mentioned the two of them had been trapped in some kind of blizzard.

**_Victoria in a fur coat, angrily wiping a tear off her cheek._** Ray guessed she'd have to be pissed off at the guy who sent her to prison.

**_Victoria smiling sensuously, shoulders naked, wrapped in a striped blanket._** Man, she really fucked with him. And fucked him. Fraser's testimony had said that Victoria had been staying in his apartment. Not an easy woman to kick out of bed. But he had to have known she was after him!

Ray wondered if he was more disappointed because Fraser had slept with a crazy, murdering bitch, or because it turned out that long-haired beautiful women were his type. Like maybe Fraser'd been saving himself for the right skinny Polack guy to come along.

It was kinda pathetic.

**_Victoria in the jungle, laughing, with a gun._** What was that about? Fraser finished that one, laid it on the table in front of him, and then snapped his pencil in two. He sat motionless until the end of the day, and then walked out without a glance Ray's way. Fraser's lawyer, Jameson, picked up the sketchpad but left the broken pencil behind. Ray pocketed it. Then he followed the lawyer out of the courtroom.

Jameson scurried along down a service corridor and out a back door. Probably trying to avoid the press. Ray caught up with him in the parking lot.

"Hey, Jameson!" The guy jumped, looked like he thought he was about to get mugged. Which pissed Ray off, 'cause he was actually wearing a suit for once.

"Yes?"

"I'm Ray Kowalski, the PI you got in to see Fraser this weekend."

The lawyer relaxed a little. "Oh, of course. I didn't recognize you from the credentials photo. What can I do for you?"

"Welsh asked me to help you prove Fraser's innocent, so I'm the new member of your defense team. We gonna go see him tonight?"

Jameson looked flustered. "Ah, Mr. Kowalski, you seem to be under the impression that …"

Ray had been living with a lawyer for years, and he knew a stall tactic when he heard it. He threw a mostly friendly arm around Jameson's shoulders. "When you get to know me better, you'll find it's easiest just to give me what I want, Jameson." He turned the little guy to face him. "So what time should I meet you at the prison?"

"Ah … 7?"

"Sounds good! See you then!" That gave Ray plenty of time to go back to his apartment, grab a shower, change, get a bite to eat, and pick up something at the store.

___________________________________________________________

**Monday night**

Lawyers had contact visitation rights, which sounded like fun when Jameson said he could get Ray in the door. It actually meant they met with their clients in a 10x10 green concrete room with a fluorescent light, a card table, and two folding chairs. Stella always said he was a little too intense in small spaces, but maybe he could make it work for him. He always thought best on his feet, anyway.

Fraser was already seated at the table when Ray and Jameson walked into the room. Ray waved Jameson to the chair and started right in with barely a glance at Fraser.

"So I spent some time this weekend looking through Stella's case files, and the way I see it…"

Fraser raised his hand.

"Yeah?"

"While I appreciate your efforts on my behalf, there may be something of an ethical dilemma here."

"Nope. There ain't. You got a lot to learn about the American legal system, Fraser. See, Stella's job is to prove that you're guilty. This guy?" Ray gestured to Jameson. "His job is to prove that you're innocent. The fact you _are_ innocent don't matter. Lawyers don't care about the truth any more than cats care about carrots."

Fraser looked perplexed and opened his mouth. Ray pointed at him. "Do not say a word. You know what I mean." Fraser settled back in his seat, mouth closed.

"Now, Stella's a heavyweight, and our boy Jameson here? Good guy, but more of a welterweight. So the way I see it, little old blind lady justice needs a hand, and I'm gonna give it to her. Besides, the prosecution has to tell the defense all their witnesses and exhibits ahead of time anyway, right?" Jameson and Fraser both nodded.

"Right. So, the ethics are all good." _Just let me help_, Ray thought wildly at Fraser.

Fraser shook his head a little. "Your point is well-taken, Mr. Kowalski. And we can certainly use the help."

"Ixnay on the Mister," Ray said, pulling out his notebook. "Now, the case against you is solid, but I think there are a some angles we can work." He flipped through the notebook to a particular diagram. "Like, right here, we could call your neighbor, Mr. Mustafi …"

After half an hour Jameson started hinting that it was time to go. Ray ignored him. Fifteen minutes later the lawyer took off. "I suppose I'll see both of you in court tomorrow," he said on his way out the door.

Ray and Fraser had been talking non-stop about the case, but there was a kind of awkward silence after Jameson left. Ray let himself look at Fraser, really look. Guy looked tired, like he hadn't been sleeping right. His short brown hair was so tidy it made Ray want to run his fingers through it, mess it up. Suddenly Ray's body woke up to the fact that he was all alone with Fraser. He plopped down into the chair to hide his hard-on.

Fraser rubbed his temples. "I wish I knew why," he began. Then he stiffened and sat all the way back in his chair. "I don't know where the money from the robbery is," he said in a clear, cold voice.

"Yeah, we been through that," Ray said, confused.

"The small amount that was discovered on my person was placed there by Victoria to incriminate me. I have no access to more."

Ray lost his hard-on as he figured out where Fraser was going with this. "You think I'm in this for the money?"

Fraser's voice was steel. "In December 1986 you were a newly sworn officer of the Chicago police department. Detective Franklin claimed that you attempted to break the chain of evidence in his homicide investigation, at the behest of the suspect. You accepted a substantial bribe. There wasn't sufficient evidence for a criminal trial, but you were removed from the force."

_How the fuck did he find out about that in here,_ Ray wondered. Nine years of this shit had him on his feet, chair across the room, both hands on the table as he yelled in Fraser's face. "Just 'cause people say I did something, doesn't mean I actually did, and you should know that!" Taking a deep breath, he continued. "Franklin was a dirty cop. He lied, everyone believed him, and they took my fuckin' badge!"

Fraser glared up at him for a second, and then his gaze flicked over Ray's right shoulder, like there was someone standing there. "Yes, I suppose that makes sense," he said.

"Better believe it!" Ray said, turning around to see if there was somebody in the room with them. There wasn't.

"I fail to see how that applies in this situation," Fraser argued with empty air.

Okay, so Fraser was a few fries short of a Happy Meal. Ray picked up his chair and moved it back to the table. "Earth to Fraser!" he called, sitting down.

Fraser looked back at Ray, kind of embarrassed. Which Ray could see, given he'd just got caught talking to an imaginary friend in prison. Ray just hoped he didn't do that in front of the other inmates.

"I am sorry, Mr. … Kowalski. I had to be certain of your motivation."

The apology was nice, but Ray was still feeling pissed off. He used it. "So, since we're dredging up bad old shit, let's talk about Victoria."

Fraser flinched.

"I saw those pictures you drew today. The first ones I get. But when did you see Victoria in the jungle?"

"Jungle?" Fraser ran a thumb over his eyebrow. "Ah. The Reptile House."

"You didn't mention any Reptile House in your statement."

"No, I … they never asked."

"Good. Now we're getting somewhere. Tell me about that picture."

Fraser looked down at the table, traced a stain on it with his forefinger. "After Jolly's attack, I searched the zoo for Victoria. As I entered the interior of the Reptile House, I heard her call my name. She was inside the _Ophiophagus hannah_ exhibit. A rather clever hiding place."

"The wha…?"

Fraser glanced up, and then back down at the table. "The King Cobra exhibit. The serpent was gone, and Victoria was hidden in the foliage. I stepped up to the glass and told her how worried I'd been that Jolly would find her before I did. She said that he had, and she had shot him. He was dead. Victoria shrugged out of her fur coat. It pooled at her feet. That was when I saw the gun."

"So what'd you do?"

"I urged her to go to the police, told her that it was a clear case of self-defense and that I would do everything in my power to help her. She laughed and asked me to come away with her."

Fraser shifted, wiped his hands on his pants. "I said that was impossible; I had duties here. And Victoria said, 'Not any more, you don't.' She had made sure that the blame for everything would fall on me. I asked if she meant Jolly's death. She said the other one, as well. My friend."

There were tears in Fraser's eyes when he looked up. "I thought she was confessing to shooting Diefenbaker. I was angry," he said, shaking his head, "but she kept going. She hadn't planned that part, she told me. But he had seen her shoot Jolly, and no cop was bringing her back to prison."

Fraser took a shuddering breath and then continued in a measured tone. "That's when I realized she was referring to Detective Vecchio. Sometimes," he said as if the words were dragged out of him, "I wonder if Victoria truly saw Diefenbaker and Ray as threats, or if she attacked them simply because they were my friends."

Ray had a pretty good idea why Fraser hadn't been sleeping real well lately.

The pain that he had seen that first day in the courtroom was naked on Fraser's face. "I asked her if she hated me so much. Victoria replied, 'Hate, love, those two emotions about cover it.' She asked me again to come away with her. When I refused, she said, 'Well then, let's see how much you like prison.'"

In a voice not meant for Ray, Fraser whispered, "I don't like it. Not at all." Then, more loudly, "Victoria picked up her coat and ran to the exterior door at the back of the exhibit. By the time I reached the outside, she was gone. Two uniformed officers found me shortly thereafter, and invited me to accompany them to the station house."

Ray looked at Fraser, sitting almost at attention, staring at the opposite wall. He was good at reading people, and Fraser wasn't lying, but there was something still eating at him.

"And? What are you not telling me, Fraser?"

Fraser's gaze flickered to Ray and away again. He licked his lower lip. "It's just that … even after I understood … and she had the murder weapon in her hands, I still … I wanted … Oh, God, Ray." Fraser looked bad, like he was about to puke, or scream, or maybe fly into a million pieces.

Since that "Ray" wasn't to him, Ray walked to the far wall. He counted the cracks in the concrete and hummed an old Clash song under his breath for a little while, to give Fraser some privacy for whatever he needed to do or say. Guy might be a little nuts, but he had his reasons.

Ray turned around once he finished up the song. Fraser was looking pale and calm under the fluorescents. Ray reached for his bag under the table and pulled out the copy of _Never Cry Wolf_ he'd bought at the bookstore. "Figured today was a tough day. I thought this might help. I would've wrapped it, but the PO's would just have ripped it apart."

He slid the book across the table, facedown. Fraser picked it up and turned the book over, spent a moment looking at the howling wolf poised on the cover.

"So what happened to your wolf, anyway? The files didn't say."

"Half-wolf," Fraser corrected automatically. "Diefenbaker made a full recovery and was shipped up to Sergeant Frobisher, an old friend of my father's. Unfortunately neither of them is much of a letter writer, so I'm not certain how he's been spending his time."

Fraser put the book down and looked up at Ray. "Thank you. That was a thoughtful gift. I find myself with plenty of time to read, but the prison library is somewhat lacking."

The lights flickered twice overhead. Fraser sighed. "Ah. I need to be going. Protective custody prisoners have 15 minutes to lights-out."

"Protective custody?" asked Ray.

"Yes. Former officers of the law," Fraser's lips thinned, "are considered at special risk from the general population, so we're kept isolated."

Ray thought about that. "Isolated like, stuck in a cell by yourself?"

Fraser nodded. "For 22 hours a day, when I'm not otherwise occupied with my trial."

"But I thought solitary confinement was a punishment!"

"Not under current prison regulations, Mr, … er, Kowalski. Now, if you'll excuse me?" Fraser picked up his book and walked over to tap on the door.

Ray realized there was something he hadn't mentioned yet. He turned sideways in his chair. "Hey, Fraser?"

Fraser turned around. "Yes?"

"You know Stella?"

"Stella Kowalski, your wife?" The door opened behind Fraser. A tired-looking PO was there to escort him to his cell.

"Yeah, well." Ray jittered in his seat, and then blurted out, "Not any more."

Fraser searched his face. "I'm sorry if my case was a precipitating cause."

The officer grabbed Fraser's shoulder. "Time to go, bud."

Ray and Fraser both ignored him, locked in a look. Ray shrugged. "Would have happened sooner or later."

Fraser nodded gravely, even as the officer hauled him out of the room.

___________________________________________________________

 

The rest of the week was rough. Stella called one witness after another, and with each one, Fraser sounded more guilty. The coroner, Mort Gustafson. Detective Louis Gardino. Detective Jack Huey. Civilian Aide Elaine Besbriss. Ray Vecchio's sister, Francesca Vecchio. These were the people Fraser should have had in his corner, and Stella had them lining up to put nails in his coffin.

Fraser was still polite and distant, still drawing in court each day, but Ray could see it was getting to him. He was losing weight and the circles under his eyes were getting darker.

Jameson and Ray visited again on Wednesday night, working on the defense case coming up next week.

Thursday Stella had a shrink up on the stand, talking about how Fraser was some kind of sociopath. That he was smart, charming, and manipulative, with no real empathy or feeling of remorse. Claimed Fraser's "inability to maintain enduring relationships" and "extreme risk-taking behavior" were classic signs, and that trying to put the blame onto the non-existent Victoria Metcalf was exactly what he would expect from an individual with this disorder.

Guy obviously had issues, but the jury seemed to buy it hook, line, and sinker. At the end of the day Ray caught Fraser's eye and mimed ripping up the guy's sketch into itsy-bitsy pieces. Fraser just gave a little shrug.

Things were not looking good for the home team.

Thursday night Ray tracked down the missing teenage girl he'd been hired to find. She was living with a thirty year-old boyfriend in Evanston. Her parents' check meant his rent, electricity, insurance and phone bills were covered. The rest he could let slide for another month.

Friday was the only bright spot. Stella called Welsh, and he was nowhere near the friendly witness she'd planned on. The jury got to hear one hell of a character witness. He stood up there on the stand and said under oath that Constable Benton Fraser was the kind of man who would not lie or steal, never mind murder his best friend.

Of course, as Stella pointed out to the jury, that would be the perfect cover for a criminal.

___________________________________________________________

**Friday night**

Jameson wouldn't go with him to the prison Friday night, so Ray was stuck with another no-contact visit.

He brought a travel chessboard, which got him some seriously funny looks from the POs when they searched him. Like he was some kind of freak, for wanting to play chess with a guy in prison.

Whatever.

Ray had the chessboard all set up and the phone tucked into his shoulder by the time they brought Fraser in. The board was definitely a good call; Fraser perked right up when he saw it.

"Hey, Fraser! You play chess, right?" Ray called out as soon as Fraser picked up his phone.

Fraser winced a little, and Ray made a note to take his volume down a notch. "Ah, yes, Kowalski, I have been known to. Were you hoping for a match?"

"Yeah, how 'bout some blitz chess?" Fraser looked confused. "You know, speed chess, with time limits? I usually go five minutes per side, but you can take ten, if you're new to it."

Fraser's eyes narrowed at the challenge. "If five is customary, then that is what we should use." He hesitated. "My time sense is quite accurate, but I'm not sure …"

"No problemo, Fraser. My watch has a double count-down timer." Ray took off his watch, set the timers to five minutes, and held it up to show Fraser.

"In that case, I'll take white."

Ray moved the board so that the white pieces were on Fraser's side. "Ready when you are, Fraser."

Ray hit Fraser's start button. "Pawn to king's bishop 4," said Fraser. Ray slapped the stop button. He moved the white pawn, immediately pressed his own start timer, moved his piece, and hit stop. "Next move?"

Fraser played a solid opening, but started to get flustered in the mid-game.

"Ray, with your knight out there in the corner, he has very limited capabilities."

"Yeah, well, that's where he is, Fraser, so the guy'll just have to do the best he can. Now, you gonna give me advice, or you gonna move? 'Cause it ain't my timer ticking away."

Fraser called out a move - a bad one.

"Oops!" said Ray gleefully, taking full advantage. Fraser played a tight end game, but after that mistake it was all downhill.

"Ooh, Fraser can't play the fast game," Ray taunted before declaring checkmate.

Fraser frowned. "There's no need to be insulting."

Ray grinned. "You got it all wrong, Fraser! Trash talk's a part of how this game's played! You don't mess with your opponent, it's like saying he's not even worth your time."

Fraser's frown smoothed away and he got a little twinkle in his eye. "In that case … another game?"

The next match was a weird one. Fraser's attempts at trash talk were pretty damn hilarious. Ray wasn't sure if it was intentional at first, but somewhere between "Are you absolutely certain that's the optimal move?" and "That was 0.2 seconds slower, Kowalski. We may be in imminent danger of death from old age before you finish," Ray found himself howling with laughter.

"You fight dirty!" he accused, when he got his breath back.

"That's just silly, Kowalski. I'm merely trying to play chess according to local customs," was the smug reply. "I believe you have under 30 seconds remaining on your clock."

Ray threw himself into the game. No time to think. See the pattern, move. Pattern, move. Pattern, move. He checkmated Fraser's king with 10 seconds to spare, and was rewarded with a warm smile.

"That was impressive," Fraser congratulated him. "You think well under pressure."

Only not so much, because the only thought in Ray's head was, _Christ, he's beautiful when he smiles._ His heart pounding, Ray managed, "I only got two speeds, Frase. Off and full throttle."

Feeling all tingly and distracted, Ray crashed and burned in the third game. Not that he minded.

Taking a break after his defeat, Ray brought up something that had been bugging him. "Jameson tells me you might not testify in your own defense next week."

Fraser pulled the phone away from his shoulder and stretched a moment, before holding the phone in a position to reply. "I haven't decided yet. It does open new lines of questioning for the prosecution. It might be wiser to let the truth speak for itself."

Ray decided to nip this one in the bud. "Fraser, that's just dumb. The truth can't speak for itself. Truth needs … a spokesman. Somebody tall, gorgeous, got some charisma going on. And Fraser, you are that guy."

It was hard to tell under the fluorescents, but Fraser might have blushed a little. "You make a trial sound like a popularity contest."

"Yeah, now you're getting it. Juries like pretty people. They trust 'em."

Fraser shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I would like the jury to decide in my favor based on the merits of the case, Kowalski, without any tricks."

Ray pulled the phone away from his head and tapped the glass with it, right next to Fraser's head. One, two, three times. Then he put it back to his mouth. "Fraser, get this through your head. This is not a game. This is not some duel where Stella and Jameson are gonna salute each other before fighting over your honor. You think Stella looks that good walking into the courtroom every day by accident? Hell no! Stella will use every trick in the book to convict you. That's what makes her a good lawyer."

Fraser tried to say something, but Ray kept going. "Let's be clear about this. Your life is at stake. Cop-killers get the needle in Illinois."

Shaking his head, Fraser contradicted him smoothly. "The Canadian government waived their extradition rights on the condition that I be ruled ineligible for the death penalty."

That pissed Ray off. Lawyers on both sides of the fucking border, negotiating away Fraser's rights to make sure no politicians got embarrassed. Fraser sure as hell deserved more than a single lawyer and one beat-up PI on his side.

"Yeah, well, life in prison doesn't sound too cozy. Its not like your case has a whole lot going for it, here. So you will get up on that stand, and you will smile at the nice jurors, and you will make them believe the truth when they hear it. Comprende?"

Fraser sat back in his seat. "Je comprends, Kowalski." A tiny smile danced around the edges of his mouth, then Fraser asked, "Full throttle?"

"You know it."

So that was a good night.

___________________________________________________________

 

**Saturday**

Another Saturday at the prison. The guards all knew him by name by now. Jameson had come and gone. They'd gone over every step of the defense. It was kind of weak, but none of them could find a way to improve Fraser's case. All the evidence was against him

Ray assumed Stella wouldn't be meeting him for brunch, so he had all day. He was wondering if there was any way he could sneak out for a smoke and get back into the room when he noticed something.

The knuckles of Fraser's right hand were bloody.

"Hey, what happened to your hand?"

Fraser made a fist, inspected the small wounds, and absently licked them. "I was granted some yard time this morning. Prison toughs, like schoolyard bullies, are remarkably resistant to reason."

Fraser sounded normal, but there was this wild little light in Fraser's eyes, like he'd enjoyed it. No, like he'd loved it, and couldn't wait for an excuse to do it again. For Ray, that would've been pretty much a normal day. But for Fraser, it was way wrong. Prison was really starting to mess with his head.

Ray got up and started to pace. There was only one solution, and he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it before. "I'm gonna find Victoria Metcalf, bring her in."

"No."

"It's the only way. I can do this, Fraser. Tracking people down is my job, and it's the only way we're gonna prove you're innocent."

Fraser shook his head, stood up. "I won't allow it."

"Yeah? Hate to break it to you, Fraser, but you're not in much of a position to stop me."

Fraser strode across the tiny room and backed Ray up against the wall, one arm on either side of his body. Fraser leaned in and said firmly, "No."

The little guy in Ray's pants was all over that, but there was a bigger issue here. Ray ducked out as if he were in the ring and cracked his neck.

"What the fuck? You still protecting Victoria? She killed Vecchio."

"Ray, I don't want you to go after her!"

Hearing Fraser say his name was a rush. "You called me Ray!"

Fraser leaned further forward to rest his forehead against the concrete wall for a moment. He took a deep breath and then turned to Ray.

"You don't understand. I'm not protecting Victoria. I'm protecting you. She has left a trail of bodies behind her, and I do not want yours to be one of them. I cannot have that."

Ray liked the way that sounded. Like Fraser really cared. Maybe this thing between them wasn't all just from his side. But Ray Kowalski could take care of himself.

"What?" he said. "You think I can't take her down? I am careful, I am lucky, and I am good, Fraser."

Fraser walked back to the table and sank down into his chair. "Somehow, I doubt that," he muttered.

"You think I'm not good at what I do?" Ray challenged, weight on the balls of his feet, ready for a fight.

Putting his hands up, Fraser said, "No, I'm sure you are an exceptional private investigator. I just can't imagine you being very careful on the job."

Oh. Had somebody been telling Fraser stories about him? "Well, going after Victoria, I'll be careful." With a quick smile, he added, "Just for you."

Fraser sat staring at Ray as if to memorize him. Then he gave a short nod. "I'll take that as a promise," he said.

Ray reached out his right hand, and they shook on it. "Okay, I'll get on that tonight. Might not be in court Monday, but I'll let Jameson know as soon as I've got info on her location."

All the long drive back to his office, Ray's hand felt strange; warm and heavy with the weight of all the other promises he'd be willing to make.

If only Fraser would ask.


	3. Endgame

**Sunday**

It was simple, once he dug into it. Victoria didn't really think anyone was looking for her. She'd used her dead sister's birth certificate to get a driver's license down in Florida. The address she gave was bogus, but it was a start. A few perfectly legal database searches and one fraudulent phone call later, he had an address in hand. Ray left a message on Jameson's machine and caught the red-eye to Tallahassee.

By noon local time, Ray was running the AC in a rental car in Alligator Point. He was parked in a beach turnout near Victoria's place. She was living in the middle of nowhere, in a deluxe little cedar shake house, right on the Gulf. The lady sure had taste. Ray put down his binoculars, threw his coffee lid against the dashboard with a practiced flick, and pulled out the Twinkie he'd grabbed at the airport. Might not be a cop, but he sure had stakeouts covered.

Three hours later, a blue Ferrari pulled up outside the house. Somebody was living large. He turned off the engine, to be sure it couldn't be heard over the noise of the waves. A tanned woman with dark hair pulled back in a braid hopped out and grabbed some groceries from the passenger seat. When she paused at the bottom of the stairs, Ray caught a glimpse of her profile through the binoculars. It was Victoria.

Suddenly Ray was so angry he could hardly breathe. Victoria Metcalf was rich and free, living on this fucking beautiful beach. Fraser was stuck in a cell 22 hours a day.

Oh, she was _so_ not getting away with this.

Ray gave Victoria twenty minutes to get settled in, and then got out of the car. He took a quick leak in the woods, and then put his shoulder holster on, shivering at the clammy feel of his sweaty t-shirt under the straps.

Ray grabbed his 9mm out of the locked travel box in the back seat. He loaded it, checked the clip was full, and holstered it. Then he pulled a button-down shirt out of his bag and threw it on to hide the fact he was carrying. Glasses on, cuffs in his back left pocket, he was good to go. Ray headed for the front door.

Fraser's voice whispered, "I'll take that as a promise," and Ray's feet slowed to a stop. Turning around, he marched back to the car, muttering, "Christ, he's worse than Stella." Ray got back inside the car, quietly closed the door, and then drove 10 minutes back up the road to a gas station with a pay phone. He bought a cheese Danish and a cup of coffee inside the gas station, and got some quarters for the phone.

First he dialed 411. "Hi. I'm in Alligator Point, and I need the police, sheriff, whatever they got out here. … No, it's not really an emergency. … Franklin County Sheriff's Department? Sure. They got a number for homicide, major crimes, anything like that? … Main number's fine, then."

Ray dialed quickly. "Hello, could I speak to the sheriff please? … Sir, my name is Ray Kowalski. I'm a private investigator from Chicago. I've tracked down a fugitive in your county, and I could use your assistance. Have you heard about the cop killing up in Chicago? … Yeah, that's the one. Well, Detective Vecchio's lieutenant and his best friend hired me to find the real killer. She's hiding out in Alligator Point, and…" Ray rolled his eyes. "No, no warrant. She faked her own death."

Ray listened for a minute, then flipped the bird to the phone.

"Look, just pull up Catherine Metcalf's license picture from here in Florida, and compare it with the one from Alaska. Then get Victoria Metcalf's arrest record. … You looking at it? You see that cop-killer's picture? … Okay, we're in business then … 1623 Alligator Point Drive. I'll meet you there."

As Ray hung up the phone a slow smile spread across his face, "Well, praise the Lord and pass the ammunition. We got ourselves a cowboy."

Ray drove back and parked his car in the same place. Getting out, he found himself a shady spot where he could lean against a tree and watch the front of the house. There was probably a back door onto the water, but Victoria wouldn't be getting far on foot.

Jazz was drifting from the open windows of the house. Every now and then he caught a flicker of motion as Victoria walked past the windows. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. Some crazy birds kept chirping at each other. A cool breeze off the ocean tried to mess with his hair. After forty minutes the sheriff pulled up in a black &amp; white.

Ray moved out from his cover in the trees to meet them. The sheriff was a big guy in his early 50s with short steel-gray hair. He was wearing sunglasses and walked like he expected everybody to get out the way.

"Sheriff Grady, I'm Ray Kowalski. Metcalf's still in the house. You want me to cover the back while you to take the front door?"

The sheriff took off his shades and looked Ray up and down. _Shit, I'm still wearing the glasses,_ Ray realized. "Son, you did good work tracking her down, and I appreciate the tip. But this is police business now. We'll make sure the folks hired you back in Chicago know they got their money's worth." The shades went back on, and the Sheriff gestured his nervous young deputy to the back door.

Ray retreated to the trees. "Po-lees bizniss," he mocked quietly. The sheriff walked up the steps and knocked on the front door.

"Excuse me, ma'am? Franklin County Sheriff's Department. We've got a few questions for you."

The door opened and the Sheriff stepped inside. Ray shook a cigarette out of his pack and lit up. No reason to worry about the smell tipping Victoria off anymore.

Ray thought about the impact this would have on Fraser's case. All they would have on Victoria to start with would be a charge for faking her own death. But just the fact she was alive, like Fraser had said all along, would be a big help. And if they could recover some of the money from the robbery…

A shot rang out.

Ray dropped his cigarette and sprinted for the house. As his feet hit the stairs he heard yelling. A second shot. His pistol was in his hands, and it took him a second to get the door open. Ray threw himself inside. The sheriff was down. The deputy was on the floor. Victoria was standing over him, gun in her hand.

"Victoria!" Ray yelled. She spun with a snarl on her face, gun swinging towards him. _Just as beautiful as in Fraser's drawings_, Ray thought, as his body did what it'd been trained to and put three rounds in the target's chest.

Victoria fell. Ray kicked the gun away from her hand, into the far corner of the room. Her torso was a red mess. She gasped something. "What?" he yelled at her.

"Who?" was all he could make out. Blood bubbled out from her lips as she tried to speak.

"I'm a friend of Fraser's," Ray told her.

"Oh."

Ray took a few running steps to the deputy. "You okay?" he asked, stupidly.

"I don't know," the deputy said. "She shot me. She shot the sheriff, and I told her to put the gun down, and she bent over like she was going to, then she shot me." Blood was welling from the kid's leg. "Am I gonna die?" the deputy asked.

"'Course not," said Ray, like he was some kind of fucking expert on gunshot wounds. "Just, uh …" Ray struggled out of his shirt. "Here, keep pressure on it." He folded the shirt and pushed it down on the leg wound. "Like that, you got it?"

The deputy nodded, tears running down his face. Ray checked the sheriff. No pulse, nothing. He was gone. Victoria … she'd stopped breathing. "I'll be right back!" he called to the deputy, and then ran to the cop car outside.

They'd left their doors unlocked. Ray grabbed the radio. "Dispatch? This is Ray Kowalski. I'm reporting an officer down, I repeat, officer down at 1623 Alligator Drive. Your sheriff's dead, the perp is dead, the deputy's been shot and he needs an ambulance. … High in the left thigh. … I don't know, but it's bleeding heavy. … Yeah, okay. Tell your patrol, I'm blond, I'm in a t-shirt, I've got some of the kid's blood on me, but I'm one of the good guys, right? … Hey, what's the deputy's name? … Okay, I'm gonna go back in, try to help Jesse."

Ray dropped the radio and dashed back into the house. The deputy was lying there, pale as Casper and looking too young to shave. He was holding Ray's shirt against his leg, but it was already soaked through with blood. Ray grabbed a beach towel from a stack near the door and sat down on the floor next to the deputy. "Jesse? I'm back, I called it in, your friends are on the way."

Pushing the towel down on the wound, Ray hoped he was doing it right, or the kid would bleed out right in front of him. Jesse was pretty out of it, panting for breath and rambling on about his girlfriend. In Chicago, an officer down call would have had the place swarming with cops inside of three minutes. Here in the boonies, Victoria's grandfather clock kept ticking out the minutes.

Deputy Jesse passed out.

Ray wondered if there was something wrong with him. This morning, he'd never killed anybody. Now he had. It didn't feel all that different. He wasn't upset, or sick to his stomach, or anything. Just wound up and a little spacey, like after a hard bout in the ring.

Well, if he was gonna kill somebody, Victoria Metcalf was the right one to pick. And it wouldn't be hard for the jury to believe she'd murdered Vecchio, not after she shot two more cops. Ray just wished he knew for sure how Fraser would feel about her getting killed. About him being the one who pulled the trigger.

_This carpet's gonna be ruined,_ Ray thought, looking at the spreading red stains around the two dead bodies and the one still breathing. _Somebody should do something about that._

It took just over twenty minutes for the patrolmen and EMTs to arrive.

___________________________________________________________

 

**Wednesday**

Ray was back in the courtroom Wednesday morning. He'd spoken to Jameson on the phone, but hadn't gotten to see Fraser since he flew in late last night. Jameson said that Fraser's testimony Tuesday had been eloquent, but that Stella had ripped into him on the cross-examination over the "imaginary" Victoria Metcalf. Ray wished he could have been there, but there'd been a lot to do in Tallahassee.

The defense had officially rested its case yesterday. Jameson had listed Dr. Rice from the Tallahassee Forensics Unit as today's rebuttal witness, to offer expert testimony regarding Victoria Metcalf's death. It was a sneaky, under-handed move. Ray was proud of him.

Fraser threw Ray a look full of questions as he sat down. Ray really, really hoped that Jameson had talked Fraser through what went down in Florida, like he'd asked.

Dr. Rice started his testimony by reading the sworn statement of Sheriff's Deputy Jesse Vernier, since he was currently in hospital from a wound taken in the line of duty. Stella tried to object, claiming this wasn't relevant to Victoria Metcalf's death, but the judge allowed it.

Vernier had written about this weekend's attempt to apprehend a woman known as Catherine Metcalf. The woman had shot and killed the Sheriff. When ordered to drop her weapon, she shot and wounded the deputy. Private Investigator Ray Kowalski saved his life by stopping the woman when she was about to shoot him a second time, in the head. Mr. Kowalski killed the woman in an exchange of fire.

Ray hadn't even realized Victoria got a shot off until they pried the .38 slug out of the door.

Then Dr. Rice dropped the bombshell. Fingerprint and dental records proved that the woman responsible for the shooting was, in fact, Victoria Metcalf. He showed a slide with her morgue shot next to Metcalf's arrest photo from the Alaskan robbery. The crowd started to talk, all at once. The judge called for order in the court, had to threaten the bailiff would clear the court if the noise didn't stop. Once the court was quiet, Dr. Rice followed up with a whole slew of initial forensic evidence supporting the deputy's testimony.

Ray leaned forward to get a look at Fraser's sketchpad. He wasn't sure what to expect. Victoria again? Dr. Rice?

Fraser was drawing something he had never actually seen.

**_Ray Vecchio, dead on the ground._** Welsh had showed him the crime scene photos. But Fraser had never been at that crime scene. He wasn't allowed to attend the raucous wake cops throw for one of their own, or the one the Vecchio family had held in their home. He hadn't been a pallbearer at the funeral, like he should've been. 'Cause he'd been locked up, the whole time.

Stella requested a one-hour recess, which the judge granted. She looked at Ray on the way out the courtroom, halfway between a glare and a bewildered stare. Like she couldn't figure out what to make of him. He shrugged at her. Fraser was escorted, stumbling, to a holding cell. His eyes were glued to the floor, and Ray wished he knew what was going through the guy's head.

As the crowd moved out of the courtroom, Ray stayed where he was. A few people who recognized him, from his time as a rookie or as Stella's husband, looked at him and whispered to each other as they left. He just sat there, fidgeting.

He was beat. Sunday night they'd still been treating him like a suspect. He'd spent twelve hours getting tag-team interrogated by Florida's finest before the deputy regained consciousness and cleared him. After that, things had been a little crazy, and he never had been able to sleep on planes.

Welsh came back into the courtroom. He straddled Fraser's chair and sat facing Ray. "Kowalski."

Ray nodded.

Looking him over, Welsh asked, "You all right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little … you know." Welsh nodded. They sat there for a minute.

"Even the most righteous shooting," Welsh said finally, "can be hard on the officer involved. You want to talk, you've got my number."

"I've got it if I need it," Ray agreed.

"You did good," Welsh rumbled at him. "That woman was poison."

He held out his hand. Ray shook it. "Thanks, Welsh."

After Welsh left, Ray sat there for a little while. He'd cracked the case wide open. He should be feeling good. Instead, he just felt messed up. Who was he, to be in the middle of all this? Ray decided he had enough time for a cigarette and another cup of coffee before the court was back in session. He bolted for the door.

He made it back just as the judge was entering the courtroom, which earned him a nasty look from the bailiff. Stella cross-examined Dr. Rice. She tried to flap him. But he was unflappable. Stella asked him if there was any evidence, at all, linking Ms. Metcalf with the shooting of Detective Ray Vecchio.

"No," Dr. Rice replied. "It is very early in the investigation. However, the car she was driving," and he pulled up a slide of the blue Ferrari, "would seem to indicate that she had access to the robbery money."

Stella objected that was supposition, and the judge sustained it. But Ray had seen two of the guys on the jury whispering to each other. Yeah, that car made an impression.

After that it was time for closing statements.

Jameson went first. And he was good, but Ray was watching Fraser and his sketchpad.

**_Ray Vecchio, alive, trench coat over a suit, tie loose, smiling over a sandwich at a diner table._** So that was Fraser's partner. _Good to meet you, Vecchio,_ Ray thought.

Then Stella had her shot at a closing argument. She was still the heavyweight champ, no doubt, but Ray knew a desperate endgame when he saw one. Fraser was drawing another picture.

**_Ray Kowalski in a t-shirt, bent over a chessboard, holding a phone to his ear, laughing like a loon._** Ray felt warm and a little light-headed. He liked the version of himself on Fraser's sketchpad.

The judge gave the jury their instructions, and then they went into some back room to deliberate.

Two different news crews tried to talk to Ray in the hallway. He totally ignored them, imagining a turtle pulling arms, legs, and head to safety inside its shell. _I'm a turtle,_ Ray thought at them, _and I'm boring. Go away._ After a few minutes they did.

The jury finished its deliberations in less time than it took Franklin County to respond to an officer down call.

Fraser didn't turn around as he sat down. The jurors delivered the piece of paper to the judge, who read it and nodded. Then the jury foreman stood up to deliver their verdict. "We find the defendant not guilty on all counts."

The whole room cheered, everybody who'd been out for Fraser's blood twelve days ago suddenly all for him. A whole bunch of them mobbed Fraser. Francesca Vecchio threw herself at him. "Oh, Fraser, I'm so sorry. I should have know you could never…"

Ray walked out, drove home, and took a nap.

When he woke up it was dark out. Ray got up and got dressed. He noticed a message blinking on his machine. He'd been so deep asleep he'd slept through the phone ringing. Ray pressed the button.

"Ray," Stella's familiar voice seemed to echo off the walls of his tiny apartment. "You really screwed me on the Fraser case." She didn't sound mad. Just tired. "But I think I understand why you did it."

"He was innocent, Stella," Ray whispered to the message.

"Anyway, I just called to see if you were okay. Give me a ring when you get this. If you want to."

Ray almost did, just because he'd spent the past two years waiting for an opening like that. But, really, what was the point? He deleted the message.

Ray shuffled down to the mailbox to get the mail that had stacked up while he'd been gone. Put some music on. Danced a few steps to it. Turned the music off. He could go visit Fraser…

No, that was stupid. Fraser wasn't sitting in jail waiting for a visit. He was out … somewhere. Doing something. Drinking with the boys from the 2-7. Playing bingo at church. Getting laid. That seemed pretty damn likely, after all that time in prison.

Fact was, Ray had no idea what Fraser might do after he got out of prison. So Ray watched some wrestling on TV, drank a few beers, and went back to bed.

The next morning Ray woke up and tried to think of a good reason to get out of bed. The chance of finally getting Mrs. Lipinski a money shot of her husband and babysitter in a clinch just wasn't enough anymore. The pressure in his bladder had almost convinced him when the phone rang.

"Yeah?"

"Ah, Kowalski?" It was Fraser. Listening to Fraser's voice, naked in bed with a hard-on, could have been fun under other circumstances. Right now it just felt kind of dirty.

"Fraser, hey! Hi! Uh, I wanted to, you know, congratulate you. It was just kind of nuts in there yesterday, after the verdict."

"It was," Fraser agreed. "Do you think we could meet later today?" He sounded kind of nervous.

"Sure thing. When and where?"

There was this long pause. Maybe Fraser was a little rusty when it came to deciding where he wanted to go.

"Sherman Park," Fraser blurted out. "The north end of the pond."

"Okay, I know the place. I can be there in an hour. Or later, if you want."

"I have an another appointment at 11," said Fraser. "Perhaps 2 o'clock?"

"Sounds good. It's a date." Ray could have bitten his tongue. It's just, he always said that to Stella, when they set something up.

"I'll see you then," Fraser said, sounding a little distracted.

Ray threw himself out of bed, put some coffee on, and got into the shower. He took care of himself with a resolutely anonymous fantasy, working hard to keep Fraser's voice out of his head. But he got his hair just right and put on his nice leather jacket. It couldn't hurt, right?

He found some not-too-scary frozen leftovers in his freezer and nuked them for lunch, then drove over to the park. He was early; had enough time to smoke three cigarettes and drive himself nuts with best-case and worst-case scenarios by the time he spotted Fraser.

Fraser was dressed in jeans and a gray henley. He looked good. Really good. Better than Ray had ever seen him. Like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Which, hey, it had.

What was that song? If you love someone, set them free? At least he'd got that part right.

Ray met him on the path, and they fell into step together without a word. Ray figured he'd better get the conversational ball rolling before his head exploded. "So, how'd your appointment go?"

Fraser glanced sideways at him, and then looked back at the pond. "Very well, actually. The RCMP has given me a choice of returning to the service at my former rank, taking an extended leave, or resigning without prejudice." He sighed. "I haven't decided yet." A few more steps down the path, Fraser paused. "This way," he said.

Ray followed Fraser down the slope and around a boulder to a private little spot near the water. Fraser sat down on the grass and stretched out his legs out in front of him. He closed his eyes and tilted his face up to the sun. Gorgeous. It made Ray wish he could draw.

Instead he plopped down on the ground across from Fraser and leaned back against the sun-warmed boulder. They sat there, not moving or speaking. Some crickets were making a racket in the weeds near the pond.

Chicago could be pretty nice in the springtime.

"Fraser," Ray said eventually, "about what happened in Florida. I never meant for that…"

Fraser's eyes opened as Ray ran out of words. "Ray, you did what you had to." His voice was low and intense. "You saved that officer's life. You proved my innocence. And you were careful." He shook his head. "No one _believed_ me. No one but you. How can I thank you enough?"

It was so close to Ray's perfect little fantasy. Ray shifted in his suddenly too-tight jeans.

Fraser looked thoughtful. "Ray, we haven't known each other long, but there were times … I perceived a certain …" He seemed stuck.

Ray jumped in to help. "You thought maybe I had a thing for you. And you were right. I do." Ray was proud of how that sounded. Casual. Not at all like his heart was trying to climb up out of his throat.

Fraser picked up a blade of grass and started stripping it. That was not so good a sign. But Ray kept going.

"And what about you, Fraser?"

"Pardon me, Ray?" Fraser said politely. Playing dumb. Giving Ray an out. Well, he never was all that smart.

"Do you find me attractive?"

Fraser looked back up. His eyes were blue like the waters of the Gulf. Ray wanted to go swimming. "Very much so, yes." Back to the blade of grass. "But - I'm not really qualified to judge."

Now Ray was starting to feel jerked around. "How you figure?"

Eyes fixed on the skyline, Fraser had a touch of bitterness to his smile. "My judgment in matters of the heart has proven notoriously poor."

Once burned, twice shy. "Yeah, I get that. But me and Victoria, just a little different, you know?"

And the bitterness was gone, but Fraser didn't look any kind of happy. "Incontrovertibly. I, however, am the same man. With the same desires, the same blindness that led to Ray Vecchio's death. After that, it's hard to trust. Not you, Ray. Myself."

Fraser stood up, silhouetted against the sky. "I thought I might head up north. See Diefenbaker. Perhaps try to rebuild my father's cabin. I need some time. Some space. The Territories have plenty of both." Ray couldn't see Fraser's face, but his voice was quiet, shaded with regrets.

That sounded like a goodbye. But maybe … Ray got to his feet and stretched, intentionally graceful. "Yeah? Think you might want a visitor up there?"

Fraser's eyes widened, like he never would've thought of that. "I … perhaps …" He licked his lower lip. "Yes. In a month or two."

All of sudden, Ray knew. Fraser felt it, too. Fraser wanted him. This was the real deal, and it was all gonna work out. Ray saw it, like a pattern in chess sure to get him a checkmate. Only question was how many moves it would take Ray to make something happen.

Ray felt a predatory little grin tugging at his lips. "Good. 'Cause I really want to meet Diefenbaker."

"Oh, I'm sure he'll insist on meeting you, Ray, as soon as he hears about the events of the past few weeks."

One step closer, and they were almost touching. He could smell Fraser's shampoo, and the man's own musky scent underneath. "You know, Fraser, I'm known for being kind of stubborn."

Fraser's pupils were wide. "Stubborn?" he asked, in a husky voice.

"As a pit bull. I see something I want, I go for it. Full throttle."

Fraser wet his lips and closed his eyes.

Ray leaned in and messed up Fraser's hair.

"Ray!" Fraser protested. He sounded like he couldn't decide if he was more pissed off or turned on.

"Been wanting to do that for a while now," Ray called over his shoulder as he walked up the slope. "See you in a month!"

As soon as he was out of sight, Ray allowed himself a little victory dance. He'd spent two years courting Stella before she let him kiss her.

Fraser was gonna be a walk in the park.  
___________________________________________________________

 

_ For readers who prefer bitter noir to sweet harlequin, there is a short alternate ending [here.](http://keerawa.livejournal.com/21742.html) Please do heed the warnings. _


	4. Alternate Noir Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This ending is for readers who like their coffee black, their whiskey neat, their smokes unfiltered, and their fic dark. How dark? So dark I almost didn't publish it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to: My beta reader slidellra, who encouraged me to post this ending.

Ray found some not-too-scary frozen leftovers in his freezer and nuked them for lunch, then drove over to the park. He was early; had enough time to smoke three cigarettes and drive himself nuts with best-case and worst-case scenarios by the time Fraser appeared.

Fraser was dressed in jeans and a gray henley. He looked good. Fraser had always walked carefully, like he was being graded on good posture. Now he came up on Ray through the trees like a wild thing on the prowl. Fraser approached without a word and snagged Ray with a smile.

They walked silently down the path together. Ray figured he'd better get the conversational ball rolling before his head exploded. "So, how'd your appointment go?"

Fraser glanced sideways at him, and then looked back at the pond. "Rather well, actually. The RCMP has let me go, but I've come into some money my father left me." A few more steps down the path, Fraser paused. "This way," he said.

Ray followed Fraser down the slope and around a boulder to a private little spot near the water. Fraser sat down on the grass and stretched out his legs out in front of him. He closed his eyes and tilted his face up to the sun. Gorgeous. It made Ray wish he could draw.

Instead he plopped down on the ground across from Fraser and leaned back against the sun-warmed boulder. They sat there, not moving or speaking. Some crickets were making a racket in the weeds near the pond.

Chicago could be pretty nice in the springtime.

"Fraser," Ray said eventually, "about what happened in Florida. I never meant …"

Fraser opened his eyes. The look in them was hot and heavy. Ray felt his breath catch. "Ray, you were magnificent. Truly."

Fraser stretched sensuously, and then rolled to his knees. He crawled across the ground to Ray and slowly wet his lips. "And I think you deserve a reward. Don't you?"

Ray shivered as Fraser caressed his cheek with the back of his left hand and moved up his body for a kiss. He tilted his head, opened up, and Fraser's tongue was slipping into his mouth, better than any fantasy. Ray felt like he hadn't come in weeks.

Ray pushed up to rub himself along the front of Fraser's jeans. Fraser rocked against him, hard as iron. There was something strange … Fraser was packing. There was a gun in his pants, right next to that beautiful hard-on, where most guys wouldn't find it.

Fraser reached between them to unbutton Ray's fly. As he arched helplessly into the sensation, one tiny detail from the case suddenly sprang into Ray's mind, clear as day. The day Victoria had applied for her driver's license in Tallahassee? It was the day before Vecchio was shot.

There was no proof. No prints. No living witnesses. Just a drawing of a dead cop that didn't quite match any of the crime scene photos.

Then Fraser was jacking him, rough and perfect. Ray groaned into Fraser's mouth, and decided he'd done enough detecting for one fucking lifetime.

This was his reward. He'd earned whatever he got.


End file.
